


The First Week

by Cold_Nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cold_Nostalgia/pseuds/Cold_Nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows in his hearts he is correct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Week

He knows in his hearts that he is correct when on a bright, balmy morning haunted by dark, familiar memories he snatches his daughter's child out from under her tutors' noses and flees Gallifrey forever.

The signs are there, growing more prominent, more tangible with each passing day. His warnings had gone unheard and unheeded by his daughter, by the all-knowing, all-seeing Time Lords. Long ago he had lost a friend through inaction; he cannot and will not stand idly by while the same fate befalls his own flesh and blood.

Days later he tells his grandchild that all of space and time is theirs to explore; he knows with absolute certainty he can reverse the damage caused by the Academy – he must.

They can go anywhere; they can do anything. The child points to an insignificant planet in one of the darkest corners of the galaxy. The Doctor can only close his eyes and desperately wish that he were more surprised by such an illogical choice.

The more he studies and learns about the people of Earth, the more he despises them. Their greed, their petty idiocy both sickens and repels him. Their mass delusion of grandeur is tragic to behold.

He would like nothing better but to leave this horrid world with its horrible little people far behind but he can't. His grandchild is too taken with the place at the moment; far too excited at the prospect of the upcoming festival to be talked into moving on soon.

The tardis is a mess. There is tinsel and bobbles draped across the walls and dead plants concealing the consoles. It is impossible to work or to conduct any of his experiments in peace. The tinny music his daughter's child insists on playing is the cause of many headaches and bad temperament; he lost count the amount of time he's had to bite his tongue to keep from the snapping at the only thing he has left.

It's impossible. It's almost intolerable

He's also not sure what they are supposed to be celebrating. The time the festival is held is the only consistent thing surrounding it; the whys and hows have changed so many times over the centuries that he's lost and bewildered.

It's a position he hates to be in. He can't imagine it ever changing.

But when he looks at his grandchild and her smile reminds him of how she was before the Academy… he can only grind his teeth and endure.


End file.
